


Christmas Rush at Moon Pastries

by GretchenSinister



Series: GretchenSinister's 12 Days of Blacksand [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23135362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: For DAY 1 - Decorations And LightsI thought of cake decorating for some reason.
Relationships: Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie
Series: GretchenSinister's 12 Days of Blacksand [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1662955
Kudos: 8
Collections: Blacksand Short Fics





	Christmas Rush at Moon Pastries

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on 12/13/2013.

It’s incredible, Pitch thinks, how smooth his baker can get buttercream frosting, but then again, Moon Pastries wouldn’t have hired him if he was someone who relied on fondant for decorations. It’s a point of pride for the shop, with the bakery and decorating tables on view from the small attached café, that everything on their cakes is something not just edible, but something you’d actually _want_ to eat.

Pitch has to admit to himself that it’s also incredible that he’s learned so much about cake and frosting in the past few weeks, and yet more incredible that he’s referring to someone he’s never spoken to as “his” in his mind. He shakes his head as he sips his coffee, and forces himself to look back at his laptop screen. He’s supposed to be working now, not staring at a cute young man with flour on his nose and a steady hand on the frosting spatula.

Still, he smiles a little as he types. He’s so glad his wifi cut out that day, forcing him to move to Moon Pastries. It’s clearly a superior place to work, even if the internet at home has been repaired. After all, home doesn’t have an adorable baker in it. Or anything even close to that sort of personage. And never has, Pitch realizes. Is that a problem? It sort of feels like one, as the nights get longer and colder.

Of course, he can’t even try to solve it, if it is a problem, now. It’s the peak of the holiday rush, and his baker’s clean, delicate little hands have been constantly busy as long as he’s there. And why not? He’s the best decorator there, in Pitch’s opinion, and he has enough of a showman about him to make even the simplest spreading of frosting look entrancing, and usually he’s doing things much more complicated. Whole gardens of exotic flowers, ocean waves, optical illusions—it’s no wonder the people waiting for their cakes often stop to watch him.

Pitch still resents them for blocking his view.

Thankfully, there’s a wedding cake assembly taking place a few tables down right now, so Pitch has a clear view of his baker. Black buttercream as smooth as glass now covers the small, round cake, and his baker slides the spatula into a tub of soapy water.

At home, Pitch thinks, he could lick it clean. Probably does, actually. He eyes his baker’s ample form appreciatively, and when his eyes return to his face, Pitch is horrified to meet his baker’s eyes, his expression curious.

Great. Now he’d be known among the employees as the Creepy Guy.

But his baker is smiling, though not looking at him, as he returns to his task. Now, he’s carefully applying edible gold leaf onto the black frosting, every movement precise as a surgeon’s. Pitch desperately wants to see what design is forming, but he can’t bring himself to move closer now that he’s been caught leering.

He turns back to his work, mentally berating himself for being a creep and pretending that nothing going on in the bakery around him is interesting.

Which is why he startles comically when, at 5:01 pm, the sound of his laptop clicking shut is joined by the clink of a plate on the small café table.

For a moment, he can’t figure out what is happening. Plate? Cake? Forks? His baker, but not in an apron? With angel-curly blond hair no longer confined to a hair net?

“You’re not here for the cake,” he says, and his voice is soft and sweet and _rich_ like devil’s food how? Pitch gapes as his baker sits down in the opposite chair.

“I might be,” he finally manages to say.

“You don’t even take the free samples, and you’ve been coming in here for weeks. We’ve had everything from our signature Blood Red Red Velvet to Vanilla Fluff to Black Hole Cocoa out for trying, and all you’ve done is drink black coffee.”

“I…I could’ve. You’ve been busy working.”

A wide grin slowly grows on his baker’s face. “So have you. I’m just sneakier than you.”

It’s then that Pitch notices the cake his baker has brought out is the one he saw him working on earlier. The gold leaf on the black frosting almost seems to glow in a pattern of stylized snowflakes. It’s beautiful, and Pitch feels like he ought to frame it. But why did his baker bring it here? “I’m confused,” he admits.

His baker’s grin fades, and he looks uncertain. Pitch wishes he could unsay his last comment, though he _is_ confused. Why is someone like his bright, usually cheerful baker, paying attention to someone like him?

“Well,” he says, “I’ve been watching you, and I thought that this afternoon I could be pretty sure that you were watching me, too. I mean, combined with how you only drink coffee and you always sit across from my station. So…I wanted to introduce myself.”

“Oh.” Pitch knows he’s grinning stupidly now. “Oh.”

His baker smiles back. “I’m Sandy.”

“I’m Pitch.”

“Pitch. So I don’t know what you like. This,” he gestures at the cake, “is espresso cake with sweet cream frosting. Does that sound all right?” He picks up the knife that’s been lying with the forks and lifts it over the small cake.

Pitch is nodding, but as Sandy—Sandy! How delightful!—lowers the knife, Pitch reaches out to stop him, though he doesn’t go so far as to touch Sandy’s wrist. “Wait! You just finished that! And now you want to destroy it?”

Sandy pauses, the knife held just above the frosting. “I did take a picture of it for reference. Next time I think I might go for a less symmetrical pattern of snowflakes…”

“But it’s so beautiful now…”

“It’s also _cake_ ,” Sandy says. He looks up into Pitch’s eyes. “It’s not meant to just be looked at. It’s meant to be _eaten_.”

“Oh,” Pitch says, and Sandy refrains from commenting on his blush as he cuts the cake in half. _Oh_.

Sandy does lick the knife this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments from Tumblr:
> 
> #there really isn't any blood in the Blood Red Red Velvet
> 
> xxdaimonxx said: I gonna cry of how cute and magical sweet this wassss!
> 
> bowlingforgerbils said: omg this was so fluffy and adorable. One vanilla fluff cupcake for me to go, please!!! <3
> 
> ksclaw said: damn it, now I want to go to La Glace (a confectionary in Copenhagen. They make some very fancy, but very filling cakes)
> 
> halibaal said: Fffffffffffffffohgosh
> 
> marypsue said: …I get the feeling that the disclaimer about the red velvet cupcakes was aimed, if not at me, then at least in my general direction. Also, this fic was positively delectable!
> 
> whentheoceanmetsky said: I feel its appropriate to compare this fic to a very decadent dessert. (God I love cake. Pastries are the life-givers.) Also SANDY. Also I want to be a baker. I want to be good at sweets.


End file.
